mahogany ; d.m

48 - yours

CW: mature content, smut
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He stayed with her that night, and he was still there in the morning. She woke with her head against his upper abdomens, his arms cocooned around her almost like a shield.

And he stayed for every morning following as days shifted into weeks, growing warmer with the spring transitioning into summer.

She had spent almost every night with him, in his dormitory, revelling in the comfort of his bed, along with the knowledge that it was his.

The day after she had confessed everything to Draco, she had been worried about what was going to happen with her friends. When she went to the common room after breakfast, Hermione had rushed straight over to her, an abundance of apologies spilling from her mouth. They had mostly pushed the whole thing behind them, resigning into complete silence over the entire situation.

Ron had been the worst at hiding his indifference. He hadn't bothered to speak to Athena as much since they all found out about Draco, only making conversation when necessary, specifically when he needed something.

After a few days, Harry had returned to treating her as he usually would, which was a positive, almost seeming to have pushed the entire situation behind him.

They obviously knew where she went at nights, but no one brought it up again or made any further protest.

It was always the huge elephant in the room when the four of them were together, but as the weeks glided on, the importance of it faded and none of them cared much anymore.

Even Ron started to seem unbothered. He still despised Draco's guts. Nothing had changed there. Whenever they'd come across him, he would mutter something inaudible under his breath. But he had started regularly speaking directly to Athena again.

The days were normal; as regular as they had always been, with lessons, the occasional trip down to Hogsmeade on the weekends or afternoons with her friends, lounging around in the common room to pass time.

And then the nights would come.

She would go to his dormitory after curfew, taking a route where she would be less likely to get caught. Sometimes he would be there when she arrived and other times she would wait for a while. A few times she had fallen asleep before he could show and would awake in his arms in the morning.

Sometimes they would speak for most of the night. Other nights, depending on the type of day they had had, they would find comfort in each other.

There had been countless of times he'd arrived, his expression had been closed and cold, until he'd look at her, and she would uncover the reserve that constantly shadowed over him.

He'd kiss her, cradling her body into his and his hands would hold her face. His kisses would be so intense, deep, desperate. Each time, as if he was trying to lose himself in her.

She'd give herself to him completely, burning and melting under his touch; consuming herself with his smell, his taste, his warmth.

Her heart would clench at the ravenous look that would settle over his expression when he gazed at her. The silver in his eyes outstanding the deep greys and specks of jet black, when he would intake the entirety of her.

"You're mine," he'd say. The word lived within her, engraving the walls of her mind. He'd repeat it like an oath. Her heart would flutter and expand each time he uttered it to her. Always reminding her that she was his, and he was hers.

Mine. His.

He'd breathe it against her skin, as he pushed himself inside of her, as he grasped his fingers deeply into her hips or waist or arms or thighs or neck, as his lips pressed against her throat and her jaw, and every square inch of her body.